Fire and Ice
by Eyes in the Force
Summary: Harry was betrayed, that's all he knew. Charged with the murder of Cedric's death and thrown into Azkaban. His friend's didn't believe him. Dumbledore personally witnessed against him. How will Voldemort change him, or how will Harry change Voldemort
1. Living a Nightmare

**_Fire and Ice_**

A Harry potter fanfiction.

_Betrayal rocks the vary foundation we stand on, and that was all Harry knew. He had been betrayed. Charged with the murder of Cedric Diggory he was thrown in Azkaban. His friends refused to stand up for him. Dumbledore personally witnessed against him. Now all he can think about is sweet revenge _

Living a Nightmare

And the ultimate question remains, to live, is it a blessing or the punishment itself? -Charlyn Khater

He was nothing more than a ball of bones held together by strips of graying skin and weak muscles. His eyes were glazed over, the light of youth that once shown gone as he stared at the wall across from him. He was bloodied, scared and bruised from the repeated visits from guards, aurors, and ministry members, none were kind. His prison uniform was no longer recognizable as such, and was instead only shredded strips of cloth. His hair was long and matted looking like a nest of stringy black hair. His nails were jagged and covered in blood, and the tips of his fingers were ripped open and bleeding.

He was seated, resting against the wall as he felt his energy drain. His legs were numb and he could barely move his toes, his arms were in the same condition. Outside there was a loud explosion that shook the floor. The screams that normally filled the air silenced for a minute. He looked over to his door, giving the rest of his energy to do so, before letting it fall against the wall and his eyes fall shut. He wasn't sure how long he was out but the sound of cheering awakened him and he tried to force his eyes open. Cheering, he knew most of the prisoners here were death eaters, which meant they were escaping. For him that meant two things, they would leave him there to die, or they would do it themselves. Slowly his eyes fell shut and his body slumped to the side.

The plan was flawless. With the dementors on their side there was no doubt in their success. It was easy to get in, and even easier still, to kill the guards who refused to join him. Breaking out his followers was slightly more difficult. Loathe he was to admit it but he was grateful for his muggle roots. He knew the power of muggle explosives, and that was all that was needed. He applied light shielding and the walls exploded sending rubble through the air. His followers were free at last.

Some were crazy even after a few months, but he needed crazy. He walked down cell by cell to see who to recruit when he came to a cell in the middle of empty cells. To be so isolated was promising to him. He unlocked the cell door and stepped in. It was dark, making it hard for even him to see but he could see the frame of a thin bony body laying down against the far wall, with their face covered by the disgusting matted black hair. He moved forward his bare feet for once feeling cold as he moved across the stone floor. The closer he got to the body the more surprised he became. Yes, his followers were tortured, but none looked as bad as this. And this person, looked young, small. He reached out and turned the person. It was a boy, not even in his adult years. He could tell his bones had been broken and healed wrong. Through the threads of clothing he could clearly make out the boy's ribs. The boy's face was hollow, his cheekbones straining against his skin. Blood was slowly trickling down the boy's forehead so he reached forward and pushed his hair back to see what was bleeding. What he saw caused him to lean back with his mouth open. It looked like the boy scratched his own forehead open, but despite that he could clearly see a scar, in the shape of a lightning bolt. He ran his finger over the scar. The boy's back arched forward and his face twisted in pain, with his eyes flying wide open unseeing. He looked into the boy's eyes and dropped his hand at the sight. One light blue eye and one scarlet eye. As soon as his hand moved away the boy slumped looking completely drained. His eyes slid shut as a drop of blood fell from the red eye.

He grabbed the boy's wrist and ran his thumb in circles on the skin, slowly runes started to glow brightly. He drew the boy close to him and picked him up. The child was incredibly light, almost weightless in his arms, but the boy groaned, his face scrunching up in pain as his race leaned against the older man's shoulder.

He walked out, covering the boy up in his black robes hiding his face from his followers. He looked to them all and then to his inner-circle.

"My son," he announced.


	2. When the Nightmare Began

_**Fire and Ice**_

A Harry Potter Fanfiction

When the Nightmare Began

Yet each man kills the thing he loves  
By each let this be heard  
Some do it with a bitter look  
Some with a flattering word  
The coward does it with a kiss  
The brave man with a sword  
\- Oscar Wilde, The Ballad of Reading Gaol

He was standing in the middle of the hospital wing surrounded by people, but somehow he was completely alone. It was nighttime, or early morning, it was hard to tell, most though were asleep. He, himself was wet, hair dripping with his own sweat, night clothes clinging to him. The hospital wing was quiet except the sound of his wild, panicked breathing, and the voice of the man in the bowler hat. Murder in the second degree, of Cedric Diggory, during the third challenge of the Tri-wizard tournament.

Murder in the second.

He shook his head. No.

No.

He didn't kill him, he couldn't have. He could still see the flash of green light colliding with Cedric's body. See him spinning through the air. Landing on the solid ground his eyes staring up sightless. Wormtail holding the wand, and something else in his arms.

No.

"I didn't kill him I swear. Cedric was my friend. It was Wormtail. Peter Pettigrew. He killed him. Voldemort ordered him to." He pleaded. But the man in the bowler cap only grew furious. His face changed colors, like Uncle Vernon's did, to a reddish purple.

"He's not back. And Pettigrew is dead."

He turned to the kindly old man. He would believe him, he always did.

"Sir, please. You believe me don't you?" But the old man only looked at him with cold eyes. "Tell them sir, please tell them!"

"Pettigrew has been dead for nearly 14 years. And Voldemort is never coming back."

He spun looking to his friends. They would believe him. They saw Pettigrew. But as soon as he met their eyes they looked away.

Two pairs of hands grabbed his arms tightly and panic rose in his chest, his heart beating ever faster. He was trapped, and no one was going to rescue him. In his mind he was begging, pleading for mercy, but he didn't say a word.

"What's going on here?" A new, familiar voice rang through the air.

_Struggle. Get to him_ a voice deep inside his head screamed out to him. Somehow, he knew to trust the voice and immediately started struggling harder till he could see the black robed, hooked nosed professor. The professor was wide eyes and frightened, as he moved forward towards him.

"Harry Potter is being arrested for the murder of Cedric Diggory." The bowler hat man announced. The professor scoffed and moved to grab his arm.

"Don't be ridiculous, Potter's not capable of murder. I doubt he has the stomach to kill a bug let alone a friend."

One of the aurors grabbed the professor's arm, pulling him away from Harry.

_Struggle._

He did pushing, pulling, crying, and scratching, trying his hardest to get to the professor. He never saw the professor look so worried, least of all for him, as he pushed against the auror trying to get over to him. The old man grabbed him and shot him with a spell before dragging him out.

"Let the boy go!" He shouted before he disappeared.

_GET FREE_

He tried as his heart pounded in his ears. He barely noticed the burning sensation on his wrist as a rune glowed and his muscles grew stronger. Then pain bloomed in the back of his head and everything went dark.

It was cold and dark. The tiny cracks in the wall was his only light letting in slivers of moonlight to give the small cell his only light. Screams could be heard from all around. There was cracking somewhere not too far away. Then pain, blinding, ripping, tearing, burning pain.

_Save me_

But there was no one to save him.

Then there was a familiar scream, his mother's scream, begging and pleading. His world went dark.

Hours passed or maybe it was days. He looked to the wall near him where every sunrise he marked it deep with his bloodied fingers. 100 days, that's how long it's been. His skin was torn in places from his friendly daily reminder of why he was there. And his forehead burned. But he couldn't stop. He raked his nails over and over his forehead. Till blood dripped down and then more. He'd scratch all the way to the bone to get rid of that disgusting scar.

He slowly sunk back into oblivion.

His youth was gone, it disappeared with each bloodied tally mark on the stone wall. His hope was gone. He wasn't allowed visitors or a trial. There was little reason to think that someone would save him. And Voldemort was not out there very much alive. Good, he thought. Because when they realize the truth he would not help, like they would not help. The shrieks around him was his reminder. Voldemort's death eaters were still here, and by the time he came to get them he would be gone. Either dead or insane, both were better than where he was now. He the boy who lived to be sacrificed. The boy who was framed for murder. The boy who lost it all. The boy who now would never answer their call. The boy who would die alone, frightened, and without trial. But at least he would never be the boy who was the martyr, even if they set him free he wouldn't.

Voldemort can take over the world, kill all muggles and mudbloods. Kill everyone. He didn't care, as long as in the end he was freed from this world.

Faded eyes looked out one of the small cracks of his cell with the bitter cold wind as the only reminder he was in fact still alive and this was no nightmare.


End file.
